


Angelic

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Has Issues (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23452117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Crowley's been different, since the apocalypse.It's only now that Aziraphale understands why.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 170





	Angelic

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing I wrote quickly. Enjoy!

There was something off about Crowley, but Aziraphale couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

Since Armageddon, something had shifted, and although at first he’d taken it as a good sign - Crowley felt more comfortable expressing himself, free of the constraints of Hell’s gloomy aesthetic - it was beginning to worry him. Crowley wasn’t _acting_ free, that was the problem.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of the shop bell ringing as Crowley came in from the street. He’d grown his hair out, long curls falling past his shoulders, and was wearing a long, white, floaty dress. He’d taken to wearing that sort of thing lately - pale colours, the sort of thing he’d never be seen dead in before the apocalypse, and fabrics that flowed around him, giving him the illusion of gliding around as if his feet weren’t really touching the ground.

“Alright, angel?”

“Mm.” He frowned slightly. “I like your dress.”

“I thought you might.” Crowley preened, but there was something hunted in his eyes that Aziraphale didn’t care for.

“Is that why you’re wearing it?”

“What? No. Can’t I indulge another side of myself every now and again?”

“Oh. Oh, well, of course. You know I adore your feminine side just as much as I adore the rest of you.”

“Not what I mean, angel, but thanks. It means a lot.” There was that look again; hunted, hungry and hopeful.

Aziraphale didn’t understand; what was Crowley _hoping_ for? If he wanted anything from Aziraphale, he only had to ask. Surely that was clear. The risk of angering Heaven and Hell was all that had ever kept him from giving Crowley everything he’d ever wanted, be it riches, or friendship, or that nebulous _more_ that always hung in the air between them. He’d gladly give Crowley anything he asked for, if only he knew what it was. If only Crowley would _ask_ , if only Crowley would _tell_ him.

“I drove carefully on the way over,” Crowley was saying, and Aziraphale forced himself to focus. “Stopped for pedestrians to cross, too, even when they weren’t paying attention. And I put some money in that big moneybox that looks like a guide dog, the one outside the pharmacy. That’s… that was a good thing to do, right?”

“Well, yes. That's a very good deed to have-” Wait. Suddenly, little snatches of memories were crowding in.

_Hullo, angel. I just helped a little old lady cross the road,_ Crowley had told him a week ago, and then, a few days later, _Hey, angel, if you save a kid from getting into trouble with the cops, is that a good thing or a bad thing?_

_What did the kid do?_ He’d asked, and Crowley had shrugged.

_Graffiti. But he was terrified. I think things would have been bad at home._

_Probably a good thing, then, on balance. Sorry._

_No, no, that’s good._ Crowley had seemed so relieved, and Aziraphale had thought little of it. Crowley was always good to kids.

Now, suddenly, it all seemed to add up to something else entirely.

“Crowley. You do know you don’t have to recount your Deeds of the Day when you talk to me, don’t you?”

“I’m not- I mean- I thought-”

“And you don’t have to be an angel, either.” It made sense, in a way; Crowley had always had to dress like a demon, act like a demon, _be_ a demon among other demons. Now that they were on their own side, he was trying to be an angel to fit in with Aziraphale.

“I’m not an angel,” Crowley pointed out. “I never can be.”

“But you’re trying, aren’t you? That’s what all this is about. The clothes, the hair…” The last time Crowley had seen other angels - at least, the last time Crowley had _respected_ what angels stood for - had been before the Fall. They’d all been in floaty white robes, long flowing hair cascading down their backs. Exactly the look Crowley had been trying to approximate. “You don’t have to change for me, Crowley. I love you just as you are.”

It wasn’t until Crowley made a choked noise that Aziraphale realised what he’d said. Well, this wasn’t how he’d meant to say it, but if Crowley wasn’t going to ask for what he wanted - what he’d wanted all those years ago, what Aziraphale desperately hoped he _still_ wanted - then maybe it was about _time_ Aziraphale told him how he felt.

“Yes,” he told him firmly, “I love you. I have for a very long time now, and I won’t have you _changing_ if it’s not what _you_ want, too.”

“You- you love-?”

“I love you,” he repeated, “and not in a general, angels-love-everything way. I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient-”

“Inconvenient,” Crowley whispered disbelievingly, but Aziraphale blundered on.

“-and I won’t press the issue, but I must admit I thought - I _hoped_ \- you felt the same way. Regardless, you don’t need to be an angel for me; you’ve always been my favourite demon.”

“Angel-” Crowley’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and then he seemed to give up on talking altogether, lurching forward to claim Aziraphale’s lips in a kiss eager enough to bruise.

Aziraphale clutched at him in return, savouring the feeling of finally, _finally_ having his demon so close. He had been dreaming of this, on and off, for centuries, and now he had it. His fingers gripped the fabric of Crowley’s dress and he felt the texture shift beneath them, becoming thicker and softer all at once. He drew back a fraction, questioning, to find Crowley transformed. Short hair, dark clothes, _sinfully_ tight jeans - and those ever-present sunglasses still there, just an inch from Aziraphale's face. The angel could see through them, see the worried expression behind them.

“Perfect,” he murmured, “you’re perfect, my dear demon. Any way you want to be.” Crowley smiled, his shoulders relaxing all of a sudden, but Aziraphale did have one minor request to make. “Except- I should dearly like to see you, Crowley.”

For a moment, the bookshop was eerily still and silent as they looked at one another. Crowley didn’t understand, or perhaps he didn’t want to. But then he nodded shakily, and Aziraphale reached out to gently take the glasses from his face. Crowley’s eyes were fixed firmly on the floor, and that wouldn’t do.

“Crowley, look at me, love?” The new endearment seemed to catch the demon by surprise; he looked up, yellow eyes full of fear. “Beautiful. You are beautiful, just the way you are. You never have to change for me.”

“But- my eyes, they’re- I’m a demon.”

“And I’m an angel.” Aziraphale smiled gently. “But I’m _your_ angel, so you don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course I don’t mind. I- I love you! I always have-”

“And I love you. So we’re fine.” He thought about it for a moment. “Kiss me again?”

“Oh, angel. Not sure I can stop, if I do.”

“Oh, how terrible.” Aziraphale tugged him closer. “You’ll have to keep kissing, then.”

And Crowley did.


End file.
